


god must be doing cocaine

by gaygiggling



Series: moon child, don't you cry [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Again, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Porn With Plot, They get back together, a lot of fighting, essentially, they bang lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygiggling/pseuds/gaygiggling
Summary: The weeks that follow are torture, and George succumbs to the only love he's used to.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: moon child, don't you cry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191353
Comments: 19
Kudos: 149





	god must be doing cocaine

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i split part two into two meaning there are now going to be three parts to this fic because i felt it was only right to separate it LOL
> 
> anyway here's god must be doing cocaine. 
> 
> lots of love

**Dream: 30/06/2019, 03:09**

_ george, come home.  _

_ let’s talk about this.  _

**Dream: 30/06/2019, 03:26**

_ baby please. come back to me.  _

**Dream: 30/06/2019, 04:23**

_ i love you so much _

* * *

**Dream: 02/07/2019, 20:39**

_ i made the pasta you like. the one with the basil sauce? _

_ there’s too much _

_ i’m used to cooking for two _

* * *

**Dream: 03/07/2019, 02:02**

_ the bed feels empty without you _

_ i miss you _

_ come back _

_ i can’t sleep _

* * *

**Dream: 08/07/2019, 05:48**

_ i’m so fucking sorry _

_ i fucked up i admit it i’m sorry _

_ please just come back baby _

**Dream: 08/07/2019, 05:56**

_ you’re all i want in this world _

_ you’re all i love _

* * *

When they had first started dating, George took a while to understand the way Dream loved. He loved in loud voices, fiery touches. He loved in the way he laughed, boisterous and free. He loved in the silent of the night, when they shared secrets. 

“I don’t think anyone knows me like you do,” Dream had whispered to him one night. “I don’t think I’ve told anybody as much as I’ve told you.”

He loved in the way he trusted George, in the way he held George’s pale, thin wrist in his thick fingers, and guided him through the foliage of his memories. The map of Dream’s life panned out before them, and they took paths run down, desolate, overgrown. 

Dream told him stories of his childhood, hindered by people who never believed in him, lovers who never stayed, a brain that never functioned quite right. They drove through years that rendered Dream glassy-eyed and vulnerable, his life written on yellowed pages of a book that cracked open only for George to see.

He showed George a side of him he kept under lock and key, never letting it see the garish light of day. George often sat in silence across from him, legs crossed and hands reaching to stroke Dream’s clenched jaw, pressing tiny kisses to the hot tears that streaked down his face. 

Dream only cried in two situations; when he was angry, and when he was sharing secrets with George. He was in tune with his emotions, in control of his tear ducts, crying when he needed to and only when he wanted to- so unlike George, who couldn’t help the painful tears that pricked the back of his eyeballs, or the sudden swell of his nose before he started to cry. 

Outright with his words, confident in his actions, Dream was always so blunt with his love.

George never got used to it. 

* * *

George spent 13 days in Nick’s apartment. 

The first day was the worst. He laid in Nick’s guest bedroom the whole day, feeling all too familiar crying softly into the pillowcase. Except this time around there wasn’t a warm body to hide from, strong comforting arms to climb under when he wanted to suffocate under the guise of comfort and love. 

Nick came in every couple of hours with fresh water and a bit of food, sitting at the foot of George’s bed and brushing his warm fingers against George’s shoulder. They never said a word, but it was clear how much Nick cared. 

He cried. He cried for the love he has given, the love he had gotten, and the love he had lost. Leaving Dream not only meant leaving behind years spent together, building a life that should have carried them sweetly into old age, but even more of friendship, playful banter and comfort that George never managed to find in anyone else. He had lost his best friend and his best love in one night. 

_ I shouldn’t have left,  _ he thought. He watched the sun rise from the window again, suddenly so acutely aware of how cold it was without Dream’s chest pressed flush to his back, tan arms wrapped soundly around his waist.  _ I should have stayed, I should have said sorry, I should have loved you better. _

As the week passed he started to go outside, sitting with Nick in the living room as they ate jam on toast and watched game shows together as the morning chirped in gentle melodies. He missed eggs and bacon and just the right amount of crunch on his toast that Dream somehow always managed to get right.

They drove together back to the apartment one morning when George knew Dream wouldn’t be home. “You can stay here,” Nick quipped, unbuckling his seatbelt as he parked the car. “I can just go in and get your stuff.”

Even sitting here in the parking lot, grey and dim and all-too-familiar, George wanted to cry. He shook his head wordlessly, unbuckling his seatbelt with gingerly hands. They make the quiet trek up to George’s old home, and George unlocked the door with a certain hesitation. 

The door opened with a miserable creak. George’s shoulder softened as he was welcomed by the familiar scent of  _ home. _ The apartment was clean- dishes placed neatly along the dish rack, the cushions on the couch not a hair out of place. They took cautious steps into the house, picking up things George needed.

“I’ll go grab the suitcases from the closet,” he murmured to Nick, heading for his-  _ Dream’s,  _ bedroom. He placed a trembling hand on the door handle, the metal ice cold under his touch, and pressed his weight down on it. 

Unexplained disappointment coursed through his arteries as he stood at the doorway of an empty bedroom. He  _ knew  _ Dream wouldn’t be home, that was the whole point of figuring out his schedule. But still his heart sank at the sight of messy pillows and scrunched up blankets on Dream’s side, no longer holding a body, a soul, a heart that George wanted to repair. 

He swallowed thickly before crossing over the threshold, now immersed in the dim light of his life before last week. Months of screaming fights and silent cries, years of flooding comfort and unconditional love. He took small steps, dipping his toes in the warm water of returning to Dream. 

_ I shouldn’t have left. _

_ I should have stayed. _

_ I should have said sorry.  _

Tears pooled behind his lashes as he opened the closet door with a weak yank, and he almost doubled over with the scent of his cologne, the homely smell of a Dream that was  _ his _ and only his. He was swathed, consumed by a burning ache that threatens to destroy him, swallowed whole by the longing for what once was. He held his breath, grabbing the suitcases and as much clothing as his hands could carry, shoving it in haphazardly.

His vision blurred with the brimming of his tears, and he blinked, letting them fall warm and vulnerable down his face. He sobbed quietly, letting himself loose in this place he once called home. 

_ I should have loved you better. _

* * *

George remembered the last time he felt happy. At peace, scattered sunset and gentle breezes twirling between the threads of their fingers, Dream’s head laying on George’s lap as he leaned back on the trunk of a beautiful tembusu tree. George tangled tender fingers into Dream’s hair, as they watched sleepily at the world around them.

They breathed together, watched as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of their love, pink and orange and the warmest blue. They pointed out the moon as she came alive behind the clouds, talked in shimmers of pearlescent silver as they mapped out constellations. 

George looked down at Dream, moonlight spilling into his features, his freckled cheeks flush from the chill wind. His eyes gleamed in cursed affection, and though he never said it, he knew. 

He was in love.

George sat now on Nick’s balcony, watching the grey clouds roll graciously through the navy night. His hands itched to find Dream’s, card through his hair, stroke his tan skin. He rested his chin in the fold of his arms, and wondered if Dream was looking at the same moon as he was. 

In another place, in another time, they would be back under that tembusu tree. In another universe, they could hold one another without burning, without scarring. In another life, they could love the way angels fawned over, in passion, in blissful eternity.

The smell of lavender was sickening to him. 

* * *

**Dream: 12/07/2019, 00:36**

_ i see you took your stuff back _

_ was hoping to at least see you one last time _

**Dream: 12/07/2019. 01:24**

_ please? _

_ just once _

_ i won’t bother you anymore _

_ i promise _

**Dream: 12/07/2019, 01:56**

_ i’ll leave the door unlocked _

**George: 12/07/2019, 02:07**

_ fine.  _

* * *

Nick was asleep, his room door slightly ajar. George peered inside, seeing dim orange light bathing the small room. Nick lay peacefully on top of his covers, his computer still playing softly, as he slept, his chest rising and falling evenly. 

George smiled sadly, and quietly closed the room door.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that once he went back there, he’d fall to his knees and worship Dream, unable to stop himself from the torrent of grief that came from being so alone in a world where souls were meant to be together. 

His mind was clouded with doubt and anxiety and blasphemous hope the whole drive over.  _ Turn back _ , half of him pleaded.  _ You know nothing good will come out of this. _

_ No, _ the other half shoved down the tears of blood that erupted from his shadowed heart.  _ Let’s see what he has to say. _

Dream left the door unlocked as he had promised, and George slipped in quietly, wincing as the door creaked at an angle. They’d always promised themselves they’d get it greased, but neither of them ever remembered long enough to actually get it done. 

Dream looked up the same time George found him, sitting at the kitchen counter, his head in his hands. He looked the same, only a few more rings tightly wound under his eyes, his cheeks a little sullen, and his skin pale. He smiled, and George could feel the defense in him start to diminish.

“You came,” he murmured, his voice wracked and hoarse. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

George took a tentative step into his home, the air cold and quiet. He could see the twinkling lights outside he was always so enamoured by, gleaming wondrously in Dream’s eyes. 

“I’m just here so you stop texting me.” His tongue felt fat, heavy in his mouth, burdened with the uncertainty whether that was a lie. “And I’m sure I forgot some things here.”

Dream nodded solemnly, patting the counter in front of him. “Come sit,” he suggested. “I feel like we need to talk.”

“About what?” George spat. “What excuses are you giving me today?”

Dream looked at him in a way that almost had him in tears, his eyes pink and puffy and so broken. If this wasn’t genuine, Dream was a god-tier actor. He breathed shakily, and murmured, “George, please don’t do this right now.”

George bit back a reply, silently shuffling to the stool. Up close now, he could see Dream’s unshaven face, a shadow of stubble lining his chin. His shoulders were wired, tense and waiting for the inevitable smell of lavender to drift towards him, but it never came. 

He wasn’t sure if it was regret or relief that came over him. 

“I missed you,” Dream started, words breaking through the splinters of his voice, cracked at the sides with running tears and reddened cheeks. “I really did.”

“Why did you ask me here?” The lid on his anger was starting to come apart. He kept his voice even, pushing past weeks of heartache and wallowing sorrow. “Get to the point.”

Dream sighed, running a shaky hand through his mussed up hair. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m really sorry for what happened. And I wish I could take it all back, undo the things that-”

“You can’t,” George snarled. “You did those things. You fucked up, now own it.”

“I’m  _ trying _ .” Dream pleaded, soft green meeting hardened umber. “Don’t you see that I’m trying, George? I’m sorry for what I did, and I want to make it right again.”

George tried to find his words, but they stopped in his throat, thick and palpable. They failed him, and he sat there in silence, waiting for whatever else Dream had to say. In his chest, his heart beat weakly, and he watched in terrified quiet as his walls chipped off the edges. 

“You mean everything to me, and I took that for granted,” Dream said, his voice so fragile that George wanted to pick it up and shatter it in his bare hands, pick up the pieces and swallow them. “I realise that now, and I’m sorry.”

“So what?” George pushed through the fishbones, the bricks that lay heavy on his lungs. “Why am I here, Dream?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, words dripping from his lips like gleaming silver, heavy, rich, impure. “Why did you come?”

They looked at each other, and George couldn’t deny the sudden longing to take Dream’s pitiful face in his soft hands, and wipe the tears away. He wanted to kiss him, to bathe him in celestial starlight, to hold him again as the waves of the world crashed upon them.

“I don’t know either,” he said finally. 

There was a wretched hope in his heart, one that consumed him whole. The hope that they could turn back time, back to a place where they held only each other in their hearts, sleeping in clouds, wrapped in one another. The hope that George could forgive, and Dream could forget.

The hope they could love again.

George wanted to kill it, the same way his heart had been torn apart slowly in the desolate last few months of their relationship. He wanted it to wither away, watch it disappear into the moon, blaze burning soft touches and tender whispers of their past. 

But another part of him wanted to give in, let it take control, and see where they end up. A lonely, desperate side of him craved to be in Dream’s arms again, to be held down, to be kissed sweetly, to be called  _ baby _ one more time. 

He watched as Dream rose from his seat opposite him, coming around the kitchen island, closer to where George was sitting. Gaze never breaking, George let him, spreading his legs subconsciously to let Dream between them.

“I’m sorry,” Dream murmured, over and over and over. He smelled of fabric softener and home, and George never wanted to let it go. “Forgive me, baby,” he pleaded, dropping to his knees in front of George, resting his heavy head on George’s thigh. Tears burned through the fabric of George’s sweatpants as he watched the man before him, once strong and prideful, reduced to a small boy who just wanted to stop hurting. 

“I don’t know if I can,” George whispered, his hand melting into Dream’s hair, stroking his scalp gently. “I want to, but I don’t know if I can.”

“What can I do?” Dream peered up, through damp eyelashes at George. He looked pathetic, wrecked, shreds of torn soul. George’s heart trembled looking at him, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed trying so hard to contain broken sobs. 

He didn’t know if his hands move out of sympathy, or out of desire. He cupped Dream’s jaw in his small hands, and whispered, “Kiss me.”

He could cry at the way Dream’s eyes lit up, glimmering behind glassy tears as he reached up on his knees to press chapped lips to George’s mouth, kissing with honeyed repentance and silken worship. Their kiss wasn’t like it used to be, no fierceful battle, no point to prove. It was slow, languid, stained with the steady tears they both let fall.

They held each other, clinging arms and longing fingers, dragged through hell and born again on this cold night, making up for lost time, apologising for blood-stained fights and purple bruises. “ _ I’m sorry, _ ” the kiss said. “ _ I love you, unabashedly, unconditionally, forever. _ ”

George didn’t have the heart to admit he knew it wasn’t true. 

Dream took him to bed and George let him, in ruthless yearning, his heart aching to be flush against Dream’s, bare skin to bare skin. They tripped over their stumbling feet on the way to their bedroom, letting breathy giggles out amidst peppering kisses. 

He picked George up like he was weightless, and by the way his heart felt, he truly was. It felt like years ago, when George had first moved in and they danced through the hallways and twirled each other, dripping laughter and genuine happiness everywhere they touched. His worries were pushed to the back of his consciousness, blanketed by the growing need to have Dream everywhere; around him, on him, in him. 

Dream kicked the door open blindly, too wrapped up in George’s bleeding kisses to care that it banged the wall behind it. He sat down on the edge of the bed, letting George fall into his lap naturally, never breaking the contact between their lips as he rucked his hands up underneath George’s shirt. George whimpered into the kiss, pulling at Dream’s hair, balling his fists in the golden strands. 

Dream pulled away first, breathing heavy, their slick lips connected by a thread of spit. George reached forward to connect them again, but Dream stopped him, gentle hands holding him back. “Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper, bright eyes brimmed with concern. “I don’t want to make you do anything you’ll regret.”

“I’ll regret it later,” George huffed, pushing forward to plant his lips back on Dream’s. Dream smiled, chuckling into the kiss, and George could feel his tangible desire growing under him. He tugged at Dream’s shirt, ministrations to pull it off, and Dream complied. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, and helped George’s hapless hands with his own. He threw it behind him, discarded, forgotten, washed away with new memories and burned to ashes with their shame and dignity. 

They kicked off their sweatpants and Dream shifted them so he leaned back against their headboard, cool wood against his burning, sweat-slick skin. “I need to prep you,” Dream whispered to George, reaching over to the bedside drawer. George barely noticed the bottle of lube that clattered into his lap, so far gone into his haze of lightning desire. 

“Don’t need it,” He whined, watching restlessly as Dream popped the cap off the bottle, swiping a generous amount on the pads of his fingers. “I wan’ it t’hurt.”

“Baby,” Dream’s voice was gentle, but warning. “Are you sure?”

George nodded his head in dire desperation, uttering a pathetic, “Please.”

With a voice like that, pretty pink lips parted helplessly, gasping breaths and high-pitched whines, who was Dream to refuse? George waited impatiently as Dream slicked up his cock, bracing his hands on his shoulders. 

“Hurry up,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. The chilly air from the air conditioning drifted upon them, singing their impure skin. It sent goosebumps down George’s arms, and he revelled in it, the pure insanity of the situation, the mindlessness of his mistakes. He didn’t care now, driven by the impending bliss of Dream’s cock in him, the wanton emptiness of his body. “ _ Please _ , fuck me already.”

“Look at me,” Dream commanded him. He felt warm hands on his hips, lifting him up gently. His eyes flew open, locking gazes with the man in front of him. He watched the way the yellow lamplight spilled onto Dream’s face, illuminating his nose, the curve of his lips, memorising the freckles that littered over the bridge of his nose. He was so wrapped up in the angelic beauty in front of him that he was caught off guard when Dream’s head breached the taut ring of muscle. He fell forward, eyes squeezing shut as Dream started to push.

Dream’s hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back roughly. “I said, _ look at me, _ baby.” 

George forced his eyes open, breathless gasps and whiny moans as he sank down slowly onto Dream, inch by inch stretching his tight walls. He watched as Dream smiled at him, seeing his debauchery unfold, bravado failing him now. “Dream,” he gasped, choking on a moan. “You’re so big.”

“You’re the one who didn’t wanna be prepped,” Dream pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the milky white of George’s throat, trailing his warm lips over the hollow between his collarbones. George trembled as he lowered his body to Dream’s hips, taking all of him with a shaky moan. “You’re so gorgeous like this, baby.”

George buried his face into Dream’s shoulder, muffling his cries as Dream lifted his hips again slowly. The painful drag of his cock against George’s sensitive walls rendered him to incoherent babbles and pleading fingers pressing red crescents into Dream’s shoulder blades. 

“Colour?” Dream whispered into his ear, words painted with genuine concern. 

“Green,” George almost cried, as Dream dragged his hips back down on to him, sheathing himself in his melting heat. “Harder,  _ please. _ ”

Dream fucked into him, sweetened honey dripping off his tongue in pet names and promises as he pushed breaths, gasps, throaty whines out of George’s pretty lips. He was big; in George, where the stretch never failed to excite him, no matter how many times they’d done this. He wrapped strong arms around George’s slim torso, guiding him as they rocked together with senseless lust. 

“I missed you,” Dream began to ramble, and George could barely hear him over the crashing waves in his ears. “I missed this. I could never find anybody like you, baby. And you’ll,” he punctuated his sentence with a sharp thrust, and George fell apart like putty in his hands. “You’ll never find somebody who can make you feel like this.”

He pressed bruising grips into George’s supple skin, burning hands licking with ember tips. George keened, sinful noises filling the air as Dream fucked him like he wanted to ruin him in the most glorious way possible, to break him into pieces and paint them gold. 

“Say it,” Dream bit George’s neck, sucking purple into the smooth canvas. “No one can make you feel like this.”

“No one-  _ fuck! _ ” He gasped as Dream thrusted up into him. “No one can make me feel like this, Dream. Only you,  _ only you. _ ” 

The moon bent to their will, slivers on scattered moonlight threading through Dream’s windows, covering them in ethereality. The night seemed to twinkle, seemed to come alive alongside them. They basked in the forbidden motion, in the slow rhythm which Dream graciously led and George hopelessly followed, in the memories of yesterday.

It felt so familiar, so right, so honest, that for a moment George could pretend that he wanted this forever. It felt like the months of building solitude were forgotten, untouched. It felt like they had never lived through their hardships, blissful ignorance coating them in sugar. 

For a moment, George transcended to a place where he was never hurt, where Dream was happy, where he was perfect. For a moment, he lived in the idyllic paradise of idealism, in the euphoric ignorance of their obvious flaws, a bridge over the rift where they had fallen through. 

He was dizzy, with the pleasure of Dream’s cock in him, grinding every miniscule drop of endorphin out of him. He lost himself in the haze of godly feeling, his knuckles white from gripping Dream’s shoulders so tightly for so long, blurring the lines between real and the fake. 

“How does it feel, baby?” Dream murmured, gazing up into clouded umber eyes. “Does it feel good?”

“‘S so good,” George’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull, placing his hands squarely on Dream’s shoulders and bouncing himself on top of him, chasing that blissful high. “I’m so  _ full, _ Dream.”

He hummed in gentle apricity. “Good boy,” he said, licking the warm tears that George let fall. “My pretty baby, taking all of me so well.”

“Your baby,” George whined, head tilted up in tangled ecstasy. “I’m gonna- I’m close.” 

“Not yet, baby,” Dream slammed harder into George, gruff breaths escaping his lips. “Let me break you. Let me ruin you, the way you were made to be ruined.”

George was nearing his breaking point, driven up the precipice with every resounding thrust Dream fucked into him. He choked on moans, clinging to Dream’s neck as big hands held his hips steady, and brutal pace made home where their love connected. “Please,  _ please, please _ , Dream.” He pleaded, tantalising warmth pooling in his abdomen. His poor cock, not touched once since they began, begged to be stroked. His head was turning purple with how throbbingly hard he was, precum leaking over the tip. 

“No.” The word sent shivers down his vertebrae, and his cock twitched at the rumbling dominance in Dream’s voice. “You cum when I say you can.” 

The pace was torturous, beating George’s breath out of him in stutters. He felt his orgasm nearing, and he almost teetered off the edge, almost gave into disobedience. “ _ Fuck _ , D-Dream. Please, pleasepleasepleaseplease!”

“Tell me you love me.”

George’s eyes shot open, his half conscious confusion still clouded by the intense pleasure jolting through his body. “Wha’?” He mumbled, immediately followed by a high-pitched keen as Dream hit him  _ right there _ . “Dream, I-”

“Tell me you love me, George, and I’ll let you cum,” Dream gritted through clenched teeth. His hips were beginning to stutter, and George knew he was near too. He bit back a moan, going strangely silent as he rocked his hips back, meeting Dream’s thrusts halfway.

“George,” Dream’s strong hands held his hips, stopping his movement. “No cumming without my permission.” 

George let out a breathless whine. “ _ Please _ , Dream, make me cum-” he whispered, desperate for stimulation, his mind reeling. “I- I-”

“Say it, baby,” Dream coaxed, rocking his hips lazily back into George’s hole. “I know you’re so close. Say it.”

“I love you,” George gasped, heart tearing open with the question of whether he was telling the truth, or if it was just a non-committal confession made in the heat of the moment, clarity of mind be damned. He ignored it. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Dream groaned, head dropping to rest against the headboard as he snapped his hips up into George at an unforgiving pace. “That’s my baby,” he grunted, and George cried, hot tears falling from his lashes and splattering onto Dream’s bare chest. “My good boy. Cum for me, George.”

George came untouched with a sob, broken and falling as he painted Dream’s stomach white. He collapsed against Dream, letting him use his hole to chase his own high. He was sensitive, but he was still so open, so loose.

Dream came right after, stuttering hips and guttural moans as he came in George, warm filling him up. They lay like that for a while, neither of them moving, just breathing each other’s comfort, and their delusory safety.

They fell asleep next to each other, after Dream pampered him and cleaned him up. George’s mind was out of wits, out of order, fucked out and oozing in black putridity along with his shame and dignity.

They slept, in peaceful agony, in heavenly fire, leaving the difficult conversation for the morning. 

* * *

George woke up first. 

The warmth was suffocating, Dream’s arm draped over George’s torso in subtle possession. He threaded nimble fingers around Dream’s wrist and lifted it gently, careful not to wake him as he wriggled his way out of the tangle of blankets and pillows and long limbs.

The sun was beginning to rise, the sky grey and cluttered with soft thunderclouds. He pulled on his sweatpants and shuffled out into the living room, sliding the balcony door open and stepping out into the morning dew. 

_ What did you just do? _ He had half a mind turn back, pick up his clothes and the little bit of sense he had left and hightail out the door, but some wretched devotion stopped him. Anchored him, even, to these hard wood floors and the broken boy who slept soundly in the bed they once called theirs. 

He didn’t dare look at his phone for fear Nick had woken up, realised his absence and put two and two together. He stayed, as the chill ate his skin, and just looked into the world waking up, life spinning on its axis.

_ What do we do now? _

“You’re up early.” 

Dream’s morning voice was gruff and thick with sleep. It struck a lightning bolt of fear in George’s chest, and he stroked the flame of destruction as he turned around slowly. 

“I haven’t been sleeping much,” George murmured, glancing at him for just a second. Like him, Dream had only pulled on his sweatpants, leaving his sculpted torso exposed to the morning. He turned back away, trying to hide his shallow breathing, and any indicators of his trembling resolve.

“That’s weird,” Dream shuffled quietly up next to him, tracing featherlight fingertips on the small of George’s back. He tensed under Dream’s touch, but didn’t shy away. He craved affection, craved solace in the push and pull of this lonely world. 

“We should talk, shouldn’t we?” George asked, not bothering to turn to look at Dream. He didn’t want to, didn’t want to look into his arms, be pulled into his gravity, make another mistake he couldn’t take back.

“What about?” Dream draped his other forearm over the railing, tilting his head and leaning atop the crown of George’s head. 

“Us. What we just did.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything if you don’t want it to be.”

_ What do I want it to be?  _ “So what was that?” George asked, turning slightly so he faced Dream. His face twisted into something unrecognisable, and in the still silence, George could feel the faint pulse point beating in his wrists. “Delayed breakup sex?”

Dream laughed. It felt good, comforting even, to hear his soft chuckle, breathing materialising in front of them. “I guess you could call it that. Although,” he wagged his finger in George’s face, tapping on his nose. “You did tell me you love me.”

George groaned. “That doesn’t count.”

“It  _ so _ counts.”

“You just used that against me during sex,” He tried to shove away the bitter undertone in his voice with a forceful grin. “I didn’t mean it.”

It slipped out of his mouth without him realising. Only after Dream’s hand recoiled from his back and the space in between them was filled with stiff silence, he whipped round again, exclaiming, “No, that came out- I didn’t mean it like that, Dream, I-“

“It’s okay, George,” Dream’s voice was brazen, brushing off his hurt with a hollow chuckle. “I get it.”

“Dream,” George pleaded, his hands reaching out to wrap around his forearm. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what  _ did _ you mean?” His words scalded George’s fingers, and George couldn’t tell whether they came from a place of disappointment or anger. “What is there to explain? You said it as simple as you could.”

“I just didn’t mean for it to come out then.” His words trembled, voice quivering. “I said it because you wanted me to, not because I was ready to say it.”

“Do you love me, George?” Dream’s gaze was hardened now, arm stiff under George’s grip. “Do you really love me?”

“I-” George began, but he couldn’t finish. His tongue was swollen, trapped thick against the roof of his mouth. He tried again. “I don’t know. I do, but…”

“Then that’s all we have to talk about.” 

“Stop that!” He cried, thinly covered frustration peeking through his voice. “I  _ do _ love you. I always have. But you know that everything that’s happened-” he sucked in a sharp breath, feet hovering over shards of broken glass. He took a tentative step into danger, and prayed he wouldn’t bleed. “I don’t know if it’s good for me to love you.” 

They both looked down, eyes burning into the spot where George’s thin fingers wrapped bruisingly against Dream’s forearm, holding him close and unmoving. “I want to love you, Dream,” he said quietly, words foreign and bitter in his mouth. “But I can’t trust you.”

“I said I was sorry.”

Fishbones lodged themselves in his throat. “Sometimes ‘Sorry’ isn’t enough.”

Dream’s hand reached for George, cupping his chin and tilting it up so he was forced to look at him. He was afraid, afraid of ember-tipped green, burning touches and sharp words, but they never came. Dream’s gaze was soft, breath warm as he asked, “What can I do to make you trust me again?”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation as George answered, “Choose. Between me and her.”

Dream’s touch tensed. “What?”

“I’m not letting you have both of us,” George wretched his head out of Dream’s grasp, steeling his aching heart. “It’s me or her. You choose, or I’ll choose for you.”

Dream laughed in a way that shattered George’s courage, replaced it with the irascible pulsing in his veins. “I can’t believe you’re just being fucking jealous.”

“What the  _ fuck _ do you mean?” George spat. “I trusted you with everything. The men you told me not to hang around, the friends you didn’t want me to see- I did everything  _ you  _ wanted. I am  _ not _ the jealous one in this relationship, Dream.”

“So what?” Dream snarled. “You want me to choose between the two of you? You’re so insecure that you can’t handle that I’m friends with somebody else?”

“ _ Fuck you! _ ” He shook in his spot, spluttering over his words. “I am done with delicately,  _ daintily _ sitting by as you run around fucking everyone you so much as lay your eyes on.” He seethed, vexation bubbling out of his throat. It burned, scalded his tongue as he spewed poison. “Choose. Me or her.”

Dream’s dove straight into George’s sternum, between ribs and blood and muscle and pulled out his heart. He spat on it, threw it to the sea of broken glass, and watched as it was swallowed by crashing waves and burning sunlight. “I am not choosing.”

“Then I’m choosing for you.” His jaw clenched, fist shaking by his sides as he burned daggers into Dream’s indifferent stare. He twisted the knife, praying, hoping for an ounce of reaction from the man he had given up his life for. “And I choose to leave.”

He turned around, setting foot to walk out. Dream caught his arm, warm large hands enveloping his thin forearm. “Wait.”

“Why? So you can stand there and break my heart again? So you can choose her over me?” George yanked his arm out of Dream’s grasp, but he held on, his grip only tightening. 

“George, please stop,” Dream pleaded softly.

“Why?” He cried, feeling the wretchedly familiar feeling pricking the back of his eyeballs. He blinked the oncoming tears away, blurring his vision as he turned back to look at Dream. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

Something changed in Dream’s face, something subtle, but George saw it. His features melted, hardened porcelain to something softer, malleable, vulnerable. “George,” He whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry.”

Tears overwhelmed George just as they did for Dream. They stood together on the balcony, linoleum floor freezing under their feet, two forces of nature, equal and unrelenting, unstoppable and immovable. They cried together, two men broken and bruised by each other, weeping over the loss of innocence, years of companionship, the grief of losing someone so close to you, you will never be whole again. 

“Please don’t leave again,” Dream begged through hushed sobs. “I can’t do this without you.”

George’s tears were boiling, choleric arsenic streaking down his face. “What are you talking about?”

“The two weeks you left,” Dream sniffled, stepping closer to George. “I was a wreck. I couldn’t do anything because all I could think about was how terribly I treated you.”

“What do-”

“You make me a better person, George,” Dream continued. George was suddenly so acutely aware of the difference in their height, craning his neck up to hold his gaze as Dream came ever so close, pressing their chests flush together. “I am who I am because of you. Of your friendship, your comfort, and your-” he paused, and something in his emerald eyes glimmered behind glassy tears. “And your love.”

George’s lips parted helplessly. He melted into Dream’s hold, his heart defrosting with every word Dream dropped like liquid gold.  _ This is wrong _ , he told himself.  _ He’s just saying this to make you stay. _

“I mean it.” Dream’s breath fanned out on George’s cheek, warm, laced with fantastical comfort. “You don’t have to choose for me, because I choose you. I choose you every day, George. I choose you over the sun, I choose you over the moon, over anyone and anything I’ve ever loved, because none of them will ever come close to being you.”

“Dream,” George whispered, threatening to fall back into the icy waters. 

“George,” Dream whispered back, hand cradling George’s soft jaw, wiping away a stray tear that fell beautifully. “Give me another chance.”

George let his lips respond, their clouded hearts guiding their mouths together in a soft, sorrowful kiss. It swathed them in wicked devotion, touches bleeding with unrelenting worship. It was dizzying, it was dangerous; it was everything George chased after. The rushing of his blood, the pounding of his blood, he wanted it all and more.

They were two candles tied together, wicks flickering with amber annihilation. They swayed together, letting themselves melt, destroying each other to their core. The world burned down around them, and they stayed close, lips pressed together in infinite fury.

  
  


* * *

George wishes the story ended there.

Happy. Content. Enamoured with the illusion of perfection. 

It didn’t. It never does.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed this. this took me so much willpower to write, and part three is arguably even more difficult. i'm sorry for dragging it on this long but this story was one i had to do justice to. 
> 
> as always, comments and criticism are welcome. let me know what you think, loves.
> 
> all my love,  
> agora
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/agowa_)   
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